


A Man Without Honour

by QueenOfSloths



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jaime pledges himself to the cause, Jaime's POV, Post-S7, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), Winterfell, a hint of dark!Dany, but it's Jaime's POV so of course he'd think of her as terrible, what happens when Jaime reaches Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSloths/pseuds/QueenOfSloths
Summary: Jaime pledges himself to the cause. Will they have him?





	A Man Without Honour

**Author's Note:**

> Written last year, so way before any trailers or snippets, but seems to fit perfectly well for now.

When Jaime arrives North, he finds himself surrounded by countless long, unfriendly faces—they all were his sworn enemies up until he finally freed himself from Cersei’s tight grip and fled King’s Landing.

Well, maybe not _all_. There’s Tyrion—Jaime couldn’t bring himself to hate his brother even after what Tyrion did to their family—and there’s Brienne. Not two of the most attractive faces, but still dearest to him. The cold wind blows loudly against the windows when Jaime first sets foot in the Great Hall with only angry looks and ominous silence serving as a welcome.

“Where are your armies?” the Dragon Queen asks, her cold stare not even coming close to the freezing distrust of Sansa Stark’s.

But Jaime doesn’t falter. If he’s got anything to hold on to, it’s his arrogance.

“I have no armies,” he admits with honesty, and it almost sounds boastful. Jon Snow frowns, his patience tested but not yet broken. “I am no longer a member of the Queensguard. I am no longer a member of anything, really. I am alive only because Cersei was too weak to kill me once I had left her.”

The Dragon Queen laughs coolly. It’s a terrible sound, echoing across the hall like a winter thunder: sharp, void of emotion, cruel even.

“Do you think me stupid, Kingslayer? Does your sister think me stupid?”

Jaime doesn’t bat an eyelash when he answers:

“She does.” And he watches her forced smile crumble over this insult. “I don’t.”

Not that it’s exactly a lie, but he doesn’t think she’d be overly enthusiastic about being called mad instead of stupid, and that's what she is to him. A mad daughter of a mad king.

They hate her—he can see it in their cold eyes watching her every step, careful, wary, frightened—they hate her, because she’s a Targaryen, because they see what he sees: that she’s Aerys reborn and she’ll turn them all into ashes sooner or later. What he doesn’t understand is the same disdain in their eyes when they look at him, Jaime Lannister, the one who spilt the blood of the tyrant.

“If you don’t mind me asking, brother...” Tyrion interjects, stepping between his queen and Jaime as if afraid that one of them is going to attack the other. “What _is_ your plan for after the war? If you, as you claim, left our sweet sister, what exactly are you fighting _for_?”

“I’m not fighting for anything. And you know me better than that to realise that I am not the one for constructing elaborate plans, either. Right now I’m only fighting against all the things that I consider wrong.”

“And what _do_ you consider wrong?”

And then it dawns on Jaime: _he knows_. Has he warned her yet? Does he intend to?

“Whatever threatens to wipe out all life,” Jaime answers carefully.

“Forgive me, Kingslayer,” Daenerys says, “but I distinctly remember your sister promising to send her armies North to join us in the upcoming war.”

He just laughs at that. Maybe she really is that stupid?

“You were standing there with your two dragons, what did you expect her to say? Cersei is vengeful, but she’s not suicidal. She wanted your dragons far away to act on her true desire, and her true desire is to hold on to the crown for as long as possible, with all the means at her disposal. Where do you think Euron Greyjoy is right now? Because I assure you, it’s not the Iron Islands.”

“How can we trust you?” And it’s Jon Snow who asks this question. He doesn’t look regal sitting between the silver-haired beauty with the disdain written all over her face and his half-sister, Sansa Stark, tall and slender, a true queen both in looks and demeanour.

The bastard is the spitting image of his father. He’s what Ned Stark could aspire to if he had the guts to sit on the Iron Throne himself instead of letting Robert Baratheon take it. How different a world it would be. How much better.

“You can’t.”

 _Why have I come here? What did I imagine would happen?_ \- Jaime asks himself.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” the Dragon Queen snaps, and then she nods at Jorah Mormont. The Old Bear gets up, no doubt to tie Jaime up or straight up impale him on his sword; who knows what that pointed look meant anyway, but then there is a tumble to his right side and Brienne steps forward.

Of course she does.

Jaime’s heart sinks and grows fonder at the same time, which makes it feel like he suddenly has four full stomachs.

Daenerys narrows her eyes and looks from Jaime to Brienne, as if deliberating which one of them to roast first. Jaime would sooner die than let her hurt Brienne.

The lady-knight kneels before Jon Snow.

“My lord,” she pleads. “Your Grace. I have been blessed to know ser Jaime for a long time, and I can assure you that he’s an honourable man. You can trust him, as you can trust me to forever shield Lady Sansa. Our swords were forged from Lord Eddard Stark’s greatsword, Ice.” Jaime can hear some outraged whispers among the lords, but his eyes seem unable to leave Brienne’s solemn face. “Let us bring them together to serve the North.”

Judging by the Dragon Queen’s flaring nostrils, this heartfelt speech didn’t help his case much.

“An honourable man?” the self-appointed Queen repeats. “ _An honourable man?!_ Excuse me, my lady, for I cannot see how the Kingslayer might ever be called _honourable_. Or have you forgotten that he is guilty of murdering my father and his King?”

Brienne opens her mouth, looking for an answer diplomatic enough to grant her a pardon, but then Sansa Stark stands up and every living soul in the hall turns to look at her.

It’s hard not to. In a way, she’s the most beautiful woman that Jaime has ever seen, prettier even than Cersei or the Dragon Queen, completely different from the gullible, silly girl that he met all those years ago when Robert journeyed North to convince Ned Stark to become his Hand of the King.

She seems stronger now, unapologetic and fierce, and he is strangely moved by it. Were he several years younger, he could even be attracted to her, just like many apparently are.

There are two elderly lords to his left that lust after her so visibly that he has to resist the urge to move towards them and punch them hard in their faces. There’s the Hound with a soft gaze and lips slightly parted—he doesn’t even look as ugly as usual, Jaime realises with a strange fascination. There’s Tyrion, but that’s hardly news. His brother has always been an overtly lustful creature, and he’s been married to the girl. Of course he cannot avert his eyes.

And then... Oh, that’s interesting—Jaime thinks, catching a very surprising enamoured expression from the direction he neither suspected, nor considered possible. Seems like Jon Snow might not be living up to the impeccability of Saint Ned. _Oh, that certainly changes things._

Sansa Stark looks the Dragon Queen straight in the eye when she says:

“Ser Jaime took an oath and he broke it. He promised to guard King Aerys’s life, yet it was his hand that took said life.” Oh, that doesn’t sound promising, Jaime thinks briefly before Sansa continues: “My brother Jon also took an oath. He promised to never hold any land, or a title, or know the taste of a woman.” And then she takes a long pause, raising her eyebrows pointedly, which may be just the bravest thing Jaime has ever seen anyone do. “Sometimes we make promises that are impossible to keep. My brother left the Night’s Watch to join a bigger fight, he made that choice knowingly, and it was the right decision. Your Grace, your father was a mad king who threatened to burn everybody who opposed him. You are willing to inherit your family’s legacy, but what about your family’s crimes? If we are to forgo our revenge against House Targaryen for burning Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark alive, maybe you should consider ser Jaime’s crime equally… _forgone_.”

“Sansa...” Jon Snow pleads quietly but she doesn’t pay him any mind.

Instead, she turns her icy-blue eyes towards Jaime.

“Ser Jaime, my brother asked you a question. How can we trust you?” And before Jaime manages to come up with an answer snarky enough to enrage someone again, she adds: “This time try and answer plainly, we don’t have time for your witty remarks.”

He looks her in the eyes. They are the same eyes that have haunted him through the years. _“Send me back my daughters_ ," they said, but he never did.

“When I was your brother’s prisoner, I had a visitor.” Now he’s talking directly to Sansa Stark, almost unaware of a few dozen ears listening to what should have been said privately. No one wants the know the real Jaime Lannister. The real Jaime Lannister wants no one to know him. “A woman so overcome with despair that she was ready to kill me on the spot. And did I say I was sorry? Did I explain myself? No, I goaded her. Ridiculed her. Disrespected her in every possible way. But instead of repaying me with a painful death she gave me back my freedom, a deed that was considered treason by most of the Young Wolf’s bannermen, some of them present here today. She didn’t care about the wars, the throne was just an uncomfortable chair to her. Catelyn Stark hated me with every fibre of her being but she let me go because at that moment it seemed like her best chance to get her daughters back. If I am to fight for anyone, it should be Catelyn Stark and the daughters that I swore to give back to her. I will fight for you, Lady Stark, and your sister Arya, and your brother Bran.” He hesitates after the last name, it seems dishonest considering what he did to that kid, but nobody protest. Does anybody even know? “If you’ll have me.”

Sansa Stark takes a deep breath and stalls herself for a moment as if trying to hold back the tears. They’re not for him, he knows that, but it makes him feel hopeful again.

“If lady Brienne vouches for your honour, I need no further proof. You may stay, ser Jaime. As the Lady of Winterfell I hereby accept your sword and your services.”

Pretending that he doesn’t notice Daenerys Targaryen’s furious glare, Jaime kneels in front of Catelyn Stark’s daughter.

“Thank you, ser Jaime,” says the wind, so stark and chilling that it could easily be mistaken for Catelyn’s voice.


End file.
